Fallout
by vacant houses
Summary: Dark fic. The bonds of a family are broken and the turtles' own humanity questioned when they experience a betrayal wrought by their very DNA.
1. When things are broken

TMNT=Not mine.

Welcome to Fallout, sit down and have a seat. Word of warning here, if you've come for crack fic-goodness this is not the place, there is a reason that this fic is rated. I've been sitting on this story for a while (several years if we include the various incarnations it's gone through in my brain) and I finally picked up the guts to write it, mainly thanks to the urging of the lovely ladies at the Terrapin Tarts. My thanks especially to DisneyDelinquent and DeeMG for betaing this fic and Tauni for being my research buddy. Fallout-verse is a mix of Mirage, NT and the movies.

This fic is going to be a realistic attempt at several of commonly used plot tropes. I'm only going to say this once, this fic will delve into dark themes that I understand everyone isn't comfortable with. I'm also not going to say what these are because that'll ruin the fic and so they may come as a nasty surprise. I'm not going to defend myself with the bullshit excuse of Don't Like Don't Read because you can't tell whether you like something or not UNTIL you've read it and the author is using it is an flimsy cover to write whatever the hell they want with no consideration for the characters involved. I only ask that you bear with me when we hit them, I hope that my writing ability is up to task and I manage to portray events convincingly and maturely and that I deal with the themes with the sensitivity that they deserve. I do hope that when we hit them that you start to think a bit more about how the characters really would react to these things when these plot elements are used with no regard to the actual consequences.

Things are also going to jump around a lot and they might get confusing. There are several stories being told, not all of them at the same pace so events will be missing until we get through the fic and if it feels like I'm neglecting a character, I'm not, their part will come later.

Another warning is that this is a story about four turtles. Four amazing wonderful mutant turtles but turtles nonetheless. Not four turtle shaped humans. I've always found it curious and frustrating when the turtles are written with no regard to their reptilian nature and biology. As Ivy-chan once said, it's the mutant turtle part that makes us TMNT fans, otherwise we'd all watch Naruto. I believe that there are limits to how human the turtles are because inherently, they are not in any way, shape or form human and this fic will explore this concept deeply and the ideas I throw out might be a little disturbing.

Read on for Fallout.

* * *

><p><em>This story began 25 years ago, when a boy bought four baby turtles from a pet store. It's a familiar tale, as he walked down the streets of New York; an old man wandered out in front a truck that was carrying a strange, green ooze. A young man knocked the boy's turtles from his grasp as he pulled the elderly man from danger. The turtles were swept into the sewers of New York, along with a canister of mutagen that had fallen from the truck. The canister broke and its contents were released on a rat who'd witnessed the entire spectacle and the four turtles.<em>

_With only the barest sentience, the rat took pity and gathered the four turtles up in a coffee can. But even he was unaware of all the events that were to take place that day that would shape the future to come. For whilst a change had been wrought on all five animals, there was one for which an additional mutation had taken root in his every cell._

_The exact cause of this is still hypothetical. Maybe this turtle was the last to be gathered to the can, exposed to the mutagen for longest. Or maybe, in a young animal's hunger, he swallowed some of the ooze as they lay in the strange green substance._

_Nonetheless, as the five animals grew and mutated, a gradual change slowly overtook the unfortunate turtle in accordance to the extra alterations in his DNA. By the time the clan learnt of it; it was already too late._

_Did you know that female red eared sliders are larger than males?_

_Let me tell you a story…_

* * *

><p><em>Day 00<em>

_(Before Shit Happened)_

It was a fairly non-descript day before life decided to turn upside down and collapse inwards on itself. Training had been a little clumsier than usual and when Splinter had finally halted practice, each of the turtles had walked away with an impressive collection of bruises and other varieties of aches and pains.

"I think someone bit me," Don muttered as he sized up the damage to his arm with a critical eye. The turtles had retreated to his lab to patch themselves up. "When did that happen?"

Rap snorted with amusement as he held an icepack to his shin, "You mean you didn't notice Mikey gnawing on your arm?"

"I did not," the aforementioned brother piped up indignantly, bandaging a few cuts he'd received from Leo's katana. "I think I'd remember chomping on Don-flesh."

The three brothers paused and glanced at Leo who levelled an irate glare at them, "I would so dearly love to know which one of you managed to sink their teeth into my ankles."

"Okay, that was me," Mikey admitted. "I distinctly remember chewing on something that tasted like Leo."

"Mikey, how can you even tell the difference?" Don asked, a bemused grin wreathing his beak.

The nun-chuck wielding turtle snorted and spoke in a snooty voice, "Well you see, the Don-osaur naturally exudes an exquisite taste of coffee whilst Leo tastes like…boring…and sweat. Eeeew."

"Mikey, boring doesn't even have a taste!" Don pointed out.

"Yes it does, it tastes like Leo!" Mikey defended himself with grand arm waving at the turtle in question. "Just lick him, dude! You'll totally get what I mean-" at that point, Mikey's brain caught up with his words and he wrinkled his face in disgust, "Nevermind."

Raph and Don collapsed into raucous laughter as Leo bore it all with the benevolence of a sage. "Let's not…do that," Leo suggested, though the way his body shook showed that even his tremendous self-control was at it limits, "Yes?"

"I'm all for not licking Leo," Raph wheezed as he tried to compose himself, raising his hand like it was a vote.

Don nodded in agreement and the remaining three turtles raised their hands as well. "All are in favour of forgetting this conversation ever happened," Mikey intoned dramatically, "In which case, what conversation?"

"Oh, I don't know Mikey," Raph said with a wicked grin, "How the hell do you know what Don tastes like?"

Donatello gave a startled glance at Mikey and a look of complete horror consumed his face. "Don't answer that," he begged, "The knowledge may give me nightmares."

"It's not just you Don," Leo muttered, glaring at Raphael who shrugged unapologetically.

Mikey gave an offended sniff, "I just happen to have a very sophisticated palette. For instance, Raphael-"

"Stop," Leo groaned, "Just stop. Right there. Further talking may cause brain damage."

"I thought that this conversation wasn't happening anyway Mikey," Don pointed out, a steely glint in his eyes as he glanced towards his bo as though contemplating beaning his brother on the head with it.

"Don't look at me bro!" Mikey protested, recognizing the look in his brother's eye and backing away just to be safe, "Raph was the one who was asking."

Raph climbed to his feet and headed for the door, "Then I take it back. I wanna catch the wrestling, so if you ladies'll excuse me…"

Mikey darted after his brother; with a dramatic leap he planted himself right in front of Raph, "Aw, man! Wrestling? Really? Boh-ring! Dude, you have got to know it's totally fake, right?"

With a dismissive shrug, Raph continued and ploughed straight into his brother, "Whatever. Still entertaining."

Mikey groaned and picked himself off the floor as Raph claimed victory over the couch and remote. The orange banded turtle perched himself precariously on the edge the sofa and quickly stole as many cushions as he could.

"Shyeah, if you're _into that kind of thing._ C'mon, Raph! Justice Force is on! I mean, if you're _that _desperate to see a bunch muscular men in spandex-"

"Mikey, it sounds like you're _that_ desperate to get my fist in your face!" Raph snarled, attempted to dislodge his brother with his foot.

Michelangelo hopped to the ground and settled on the floor sulkily. "Well, fine! I _was _going to let you into my pillow fort…"

Don, who'd been drifting past on his way to the kitchen, paused. "There's an innuendo in there somewhere, but I'm too disturbed to look that deeply into it. Is there something I should know about you two...?"

His reward for that comment was a cushion in the face followed by a Raphael death tackle to the floor. As Don desperately tried to escape from his brother's grasp, Mikey quickly claimed the remote and couch. And despite Raphael's best efforts, the variant of spandexed men that was on the tv that night were those of the Justice Force kind.

_It seems so strange that was the last time when things were right. Because the next day was when it all went to hell._

* * *

><p><em>Day 01<em>

_Shit happened_

Something was wrong.

Master Splinter watched as his sons as they sparred and he couldn't shake that feeling that there was a disaster brewing in the dojo. His fur was on edge, ears flattening unconsciously and he gripped his walking stick tightly. But his sons were behaving, they darted forward and leapt back as they attacked and defended against each other.

There was no reason for this, this unsettledness crawling down Splinter's spine, making him tense every time one of his sons moved-

The silence. That's what was wrong; as the battles progressed his children had ever so gradually become quieter. There were no taunts or battle cries, just a deathly quiet. The air almost seemed suspended in the thick stillness as if the dojo was collectively holding its breath and waiting for something-something dangerous- to happen.

Whatever it was building up to, the climax came when Leonardo managed to disarm Raphael and send them both tumbling to the floor. Donatello and Michelangelo paused and watched inquisitively and the only movement in the dojo belonged to Leonardo as he pulled himself up on top of his brother. His eyes fixed on Raphael and the two turtles stared at each other as Leonardo's nostrils flared to sniff the air curiously.

"Enough," Master Splinter said and his voice seemed to shatter the silence.

His sons unfroze and lined up, chests heaving as they panted for air. But there were no jests, no boasts from Michelangelo or Leonardo admonishing his brothers for their performance. Instead, there was an odd look on Leonardo's face, on Michelangelo and Donatello's faces as well in fact, as they all focused intently on Raphael.

And…there was that scent…faint, almost undetectable but there nonetheless. It wafted gently through the dojo, passed each turtle. Master Splinter could almost see the moment it was inhaled, each stiffened for half a moment, eyes widening as if receiving a secret message. A message Splinter was not privy to.

The old rat's fur bristled unhappily. He studied each of his sons carefully and then at last he saw it.

There was something…unfamiliar in their eyes, a dark look he'd never associated with his sons. Their bodies were tense, agitated and each had settled as far away as possible from the other. They shifted restlessly and he watched in curiosity as their hands repeatedly flexed into fists and relaxed again.

He'd never witnessed such behaviour before. "My sons," he began but he got no further-

In a second, three of his sons were on their feet, hissing furiously at each other. Leonardo loomed threateningly over Michelangelo but the orange turtle was not cowed. As Master Splinter blinked in confusion, Donatello quickly took a step towards Raphael, apparently not interested in whatever battle that was occurring between his other brothers.

This…could not be. The way his sons tensed and snarled, the darkness in their eyes told him that these were not his children, merely wild animals locked within their mutated bodies.

He did not have time to ponder this development. Michelangelo lunged for Donatello, and the purple banded turtle crashed to the ground, quickly recovering and leaping to his feet with a angered hiss. A few moments later, Leonardo joined them as they clashed in battle, thick fingers tensed into claws and their snarling mouths for the first time morphed into beaks. They tore into each other only with the weapons nature had provided them and their savage brawl quickly drew blood.

Splinter darted forward, quickly driving his slender fingers into pressure points but his third son nimbly evaded his grasp and dragged Raphael from the lair. Splinter took a step after his escaping children but a furious roar diverted his attention back to the incapacitated turtles.

Already, one was climbing to his feet, the paralysis shaken from his limbs. His dark eyes rested on Splinter for a brief moment, then swept past him to the departing turtles. He took a step forward but his brother lunged for his legs and they became a tangled mess of battling reptiles.

Master Splinter hesitated, glanced back to catch a glimpse of red bandana tails fluttering out of sight and then made his choice.

He could only hope that he would not regret it.

* * *

><p>Footsteps echoed through the damp tunnels as a pair of mutated turtles abandoned a lifetime of training, all forms of higher thought processes gone from their minds. Only the sewer rats noted their passage, they hissed furiously at the intruders and fled into dark shadows.<p>

Eventually, the lead turtle slowed their frantic pace. It was debatable whether he'd consciously made the decision or not but their path had taken them deep within the sewer system, very rarely visited by the mutant subterranean dwellers or humans alike. They travelled further into the lonely tunnels, where time itself seemed to have forgotten.

Like some secret signal had been given, the first turtle suddenly stopped. He turned to his brother, shoving him hard to the ground. His fingers clamped down with an iron grip on the other turtle as he manoeuvred the other's shell between them, a low rumbling churr building in his throat.

There is no pleasure in this; low growls and moans escape from their beaks but they are bestial noises, brought on by the act but no conscious enjoyment on either part. Reason had no place here, this was something that had been coded into every living creature and it cared nothing for the havoc it was wreaking for the two bodies obeying its preprogramed instructions.

It wasn't a primordial dance. No stars exploding, this wasn't the ultimate expression of love. Nor was it an act of intimacy; there was nothing beautiful here but harsh reality, this was nothing more than a basic biological function.

There was nothing remotely recognizably human about this act.

Because the performers here were nowhere near remotely human themselves.

* * *

><p><em>Do you know how unlikely it is for the mutagen to have interacted with our DNA so well? To have altered it so perfectly that we became humanoid turtles the chances are near impossible. For every change made to our genetic sequence, there are a thousand possibilities that it could have resulted in nonsensical code, which would have created defective proteins or even stopped their production, stunting our growth and killing us. That every change didn't defies the odds. <em>

_That we live and breathe and function is nothing short of a miracle._

_That our brains are capable of sentient thought is damn well impossible._

_But we can only develop so far. No matter how human we felt, our capacity for emotions, logic and reasoning, the simple fact remains that we were once four turtles. Simple animals with no higher purpose than to survive long enough to pass on genes to the next generation. The innate need to breed is the driving force of all organisms, and even the thousands of years of sentience that humans have has not been enough to remove it from their genetic code._

_What hope then, did we have? A mere 20 years of mimicking humans, of learning to live as brothers and family when turtles did not possess such concepts. _

_It was not enough to shield us from our nature. _

_An opportunity to breed could not be ignored._

* * *

><p>Raph's brain felt like glue. As he slowly became conscious, his mind barely stirred through the thick haze fogging up his head. He stared blankly at the wall in front of him for several minutes before it finally occurred to him it wasn't his bedroom wall.<p>

He lifted his neck and swore in surprise at the surge of pain that shot through his body, alerting him to the damage he'd seemed to have accumulated since…Raph frowned at the mental blank. How had he got here?

Here being…the inner sewer system by the looks of it. Raph slowly pulled himself up against the wall, taking a deep breath to compose himself, (_he was not in pain, he was not in pain, motherfucker his body hurt!)_ before he opened his eyes again to assess the damage.

He blinked in surprise at the three fingered shaped bruises and then something hiding in the mist in his brain shot out and sent him reeling-

_An iron grip forced him to the floor; a wild churr filled his ears as the other turtle manoeuvred himself behind him. Then…an odd discomfort in a place he'd never imagined would be invaded-_

Raph's eyes fluttered open as he lurched forward to lose the acidic remains of his last meal. His throat burned furiously as he coughed up the corrosive bile but it's nothing compared to the jumbled mess his brain had suddenly mushed into.

His brother had, had- _shitshitshitshitshit- _that couldn't have happened. It couldn't. Could not. Had not happened. Someone, the Foot mystics, yes, someone was screwing with his head because it was not possible that his brother had-it was a bad dream nothing more. A fucking nightmare that could've only been cooked up by the sick minds of one of their enemies. That's all it was because there was no way-no fucking way that _that _had happened.

But damn, his arms hurt. They ached incessantly, almost like it had happened, like it had happened and-_his brother's gripped his arms tightly_ and there was no way on earth this could be true. When the mystics and the Tribunal had trapped them in dreams, things had felt real then; he'd been so convinced that people had died and the injuries he'd sustained were real too.

That's all this was, a nightmare of bruised arms and, and -_his brother pushing him to the floor_- total fuckedupness. It couldn't be real. He refused to entertain the slight possibility that it was. If it had happened _–which it had_- if there was the most miniscule chance of this happening and he wasn't saying that there was because there was no chance in hell that it had, then he was going to have kill someone. Someone like his brother.

With that resolution in mind, he found the wall and somehow made it to his feet, raw fury fuelling his every movement, panting hard as each twinge of pain sent crazy images spiralling through his brain. Stupid Foot mystics fucking around with his head. He was stronger than them and soon these illusions were going to fade from his mind and his arms were going to stop hurting and Raph was going to hunt down those fuckers and pull their elemental guts out of their throats and strangle them for pulling this shit on him.

A shiver suddenly went through his body as he suddenly wondered where his brother had vanished to. Which was stupid because his brother **was not **here since this was a dream. Those Foot mystics were just trying to distract him, trying to frighten him, trying to keep him from going after them. His brother was not here and he was going to get out of here and then they would go home and things would be fine-

Fuck, suddenly he was afraid. Afraid that his brother was lurking around somewhere nearby, waiting for Raph to stumble past and-he was going home. Never mind that this was an illusion and he couldn't get out until he figured what was going on because he wasn't going to touch that shit that he'd dreamt with a fifty mile pole. He was going home. He was going to find his hammock and never-

And why couldn't he hear?

A strange static had fallen on his ears, he stood still with one hand resting on the wall as he tried to hear anything. The water at his feet made no sound as it flowed past him, the sewer rats that scurried away from his approach didn't squeak in alarm-where had the sounds gone?

His beak opened and shut uncontrollably and he knew that if his ears were working he'd be able to hear the strangled keening his throat had to be making-

The sewer rats were the only witnesses as the lone turtle slumped exhaustedly against the wall as the dam on his memories finally burst. A strange cry escaped from his mouth as he shook and shuddered as he relived a betrayal committed by his very DNA and his own brother.

At last he was still, an unnatural silence fell on the turtle as he opened his eyes and gazed around with empty eyes. The being inside the turtle's large frame seemed to have vanished, destroyed by the internal turmoil he'd just experienced. All that remained was a shadow, operating the vacant body with puppet strings.

He climbed to his feet with choppy, unnatural movements and set off into the darkness, driven by an instinctual impulse to return home. The natural grace that had always accompanied his movements had gone, along with most of the turtle's soul.

When he finally returned to the lair, the turtle deposited himself exhaustedly on the couch, watching through detached eyes as a purple turtle steadily approached, mouth opening to air words he couldn't hear.

Three fingers. The turtle's eyes locked onto the other's hands and the shadow inside him quailed in fear. As the turtle tensed and prepared to flee, his eyes drifted over the purple turtle's neck and he noted the shape of bruises there with vague interest.

Three fingered bruises, just like his arms.

There was a blue turtle in the room now and he noticed that the purple one tensed at the sight of the newcomer and he knew who'd caused the injuries on that one's throat. The two turtles were talking and though he couldn't hear the words, he knew that they were speaking about him. But that wasn't important, his eyes kept glancing at the blue turtle's hands and the purple turtle's throat and the way the purple one kept his distance from the other turtle.

The purple one _knew, _knew how dangerous those three fingered hands could be and he found himself shuffling up behind the purple turtle.

This one, yes, this one was safe.

* * *

><p>Never had Don been so relieved at the sight of his brother stumbling home. Before the lair's entrance had even finished shutting, the turtle shot away from his computer and to his door.<p>

For a moment he paused at leaving the safety of his room, after all _he _was out there. But Raph, Raph needed him, far more than he ever had before in his life. A shiver went through Don; his problems were all so very minor in the face of the tragedy his brothers had woken up to this morning. Last night, last night was insane, last night should have never happened.

But it had, a buried part of their very nature had come screaming to life last night as they'd all battled in an twisted effort to, to-

Don had done his research a long time ago about the reproductive behaviour of turtles. He knew exactly what had transpired between his two brothers, though _why _it had happened eluded him. There shouldn't have ever been a reason for it to have happened. But science was always full of exceptions and already several theories were brewing inside him.

Theories that would do absolutely nothing to help his brothers.

His fingers tightened on the doorknob but he made no further move to open it. He had to do this. Raph…needed family right now. Raph needed a lot of things at the moment actually; mainly Raph needed last night to have never happened. And since Master Splinter had left the lair a while ago and _Leo_ was in no shape or form capable of handling anything at the moment, it was up to Don to do what little he could.

He could do it. He had to do it. The fact that _Leo _was somewhere out there…it, well that was irrelevant. It really, really was.

Maybe one day, he'd believe it.

Don forced his fingers to turn the handle, then he stealthily headed down into the living room where his brother was collapsing on the couch.

"Raph?" he whispered quietly, something was wrong with the way his brother was moving, slow and mechanical and with none of Raphael's grace.

The turtle immediately tensed and it was painful to watch as Raphael stared fearfully at him with vacant empty eyes. And there were so many bruises, large three fingered discolorations that laced his brother's arms and legs. His neck…Don's own began to throb in sympathy at the sight of the bite mark there. Any hopeful doubts Don had about what had happened between his brothers vanished.

But the emptiness, Don couldn't shake it. Raph's eyes were dull and flat, no trace of his usual fury and energy. There was nothing imposing about his large bulky frame, all the menace, the antagonism that defined Raph was gone; it was a lost stranger staring at Don through his brother's eyes and flinching away in fear.

Whoever this was, it wasn't Raphael.

The thought terrified Don more than anything he'd ever experienced.

And yet…the fine tremors that shook the turtle's body were the distinct warning signs of the deepest rages Raphael was capable off. Somewhere deep within, anger still burned, reaching out through the surface, through this numb façade that wore Raphael's face.

"Shit," the word escaped from Donatello's mouth but Raph didn't even notice; he was somewhere beyond Don's reach and beyond hearing.

"Don?" Leo's quiet voice cut through the room and unconsciously, Don's muscles locked down in preparation of a battle that wasn't to come.

Leo wasn't his enemy. His memory screamed with images from last night's fight and insisted that he should be taken down as quickly as possible. Don gritted his teeth and forced his fists to relax. His instincts were biased from what had happened. Leo wasn't what was important here.

Leo opened his mouth to speak- "Not now," Don said forcefully, forcing himself to direct his attention to Raphael who was watching the exchange with almost total disinterest. He needed to focus on Raph. If he ignored Leo then he could ignore his memories.

"We need to-"

"No, we don't," Don insisted firmly, shooting a glance at Leo.

Numb fear shot through Don as he caught a glimpse at the raw emptiness in his brother's eyes, the same emptiness that had swallowed Raphael whole and left an empty shell in his place. There was none of Leo's familiar confidence and poise, instead he looked…ill. A huge weight began to creep over Don but he forced it away almost immediately. Damn it, he already had one brother to handle and it didn't matter that Leo needed as much help; he was not going to deal with Leo. Not like this. Not ever. Not after what had happened.

"What…happened to Raph?" Leo asked hoarsely, perhaps recognising Don's hostility towards him.

For an incredulous second, Don stared at his brother, completely distracted from Raphael. Did Leo honestly not know what had happened the night before? It seemed so blatantly obvious and Leo was never slow. But as he gazed at Leo, it occurred that it wasn't the sort of thing that someone would accept easily. Don's own brain kept shorting out whenever his thoughts drifted over and it would be very easy and tempting to sink into denial.

"Raph," Don said shortly, "Is a total mess. And you're not helping. He's afraid of you."

It was true, Raph's eyes were fixed on Leo and he was moving ever so slightly to hide behind Don. "I don't-" Leo frowned and shook his head, "Did someone attack him while he was outside?"

Don tilted his head almost curiously; this would all be very fascinating if it wasn't so creepy, Raph cowering behind him while Leo played dumb. "No," he answered as he debated whether or not to just throw the truth out at Leo. "Raph was out…with Mikey."

At the mention of the fourth turtle's name, Raphael stiffened entirely and went still. "Raph?" cursing himself for not guessing that mentioning Mikey's name was probably a bad idea, Don cautiously approached his brother, waving his hand in front of him.

No reaction.

"Raph," he repeated, a slight note of fear in his voice this time as he reached out to gently grasp Raph's shoulder and shake him. Raphael's head flopped flaccidly to the side but there was no further response.

"What's wrong with him?" Leo asked worriedly, walking over.

Donatello couldn't help the tensing of his own muscles at the near proximity of his other brother but he forced it down. "I don't know," he muttered. "Help me get him to the infirmary; I'll see what I can look up."

Numerous possibilities ran through his mind as they dragged Raphael, extreme shock, trauma, catonia, things that he could never imagine Raph of all people ever experiencing. But then again, no one should have ever been forced to experience last night events. Don began to run through a checklist of websites to look up then forced himself to stop.

This was nothing any human had ever needed to deal with. There was nothing the human world had to offer that could help. What was he going to do, log onto one of those websites and send a query, "My brothers lost complete control of themselves and slept with each other and I have the niggling suspicion that one of them might actually be female because we're humanoid turtles and there are very few physical differences between male and female turtles and it's entirely possible we actually never noticed. What should we do?"

Yeah, he wasn't going to get anything useful.

When they finally managed to get Raph onto the sickbed in the small room by the dojo, Leo looked up with a vague trace of his old usual determination, "Don, what's going on?"

"At a glance, I would say Raph's just gone into some form of catonic shock," Don muttered as he redundantly fetched his laptop anyway, just so that he could pretend for a few minutes that he was going to find something that would help.

"Catonic shock? That's…bad right?" Leo asked. "What brought that on?"

"You know what happened?" Don asked, deciding to go for the direct route as he observed Raphael's frozen form. This really wasn't the time or place, he'd much rather be exerting his energy on Raph, but Leo was being absolutely hopeless right now.

Leo gazed questioningly at Don as he mumbled, "Last night…was insane. And I swear, I didn't mean a thing that happened. It was like I wasn't even there; I was completely out of control."

"I know," Don said and even though it's the truth, the coldness doesn't dissipate in his guts. "But do you know what happened between Mikey and Raph?"

His brother's eyes frowned, eyes nearly sliding in shut as if in pain. "Mikey…dragged Raph away," he said slowly, his eyes opening to wander over Raph's bruises thoughtfully. "But I don't understand anything, why would he do this?"

Words fly to Don's tongue, hundreds of explanations about hormones, sexual maturity and the behaviour and nature of turtles. But in the end, he couldn't say anything, couldn't bring himself up to speak.

Because, he cannot fix this.

The realization left him numb. The full magnitude of what had happened was only just beginning to sink into Donatello's brain. Michelangelo and Raph had slept with each other. No, by the look of it, Michelangelo may have actually have…raped Raphael. And Raph, Raph definitely wasn't okay with it. He was so far gone; he'd sunk into some form of shock. And Mikey, Jesus Christ, Mikey wouldn't have ever intentionally done something like this.

They'd all been plunged into a mental blackout by their turtle side. It had come screaming and clawing to the surface, something that had never happened before and they'd had no experience to counteract it. They hadn't been in control of themselves at all.

There was no comfort in knowing that.

Donatello's take on life was that of an engineer's, if something was not working, there was always a broken or damaged part. Fixing them required finding the right component and replacing it. But machines were simple and adhered to the laws of logic and reason.

People however, they were far more complicated than any machine. Emotions were often irrational, connected to a lifetime of experiences. Logic was not enough to override them. But this, his brothers weren't going to be made better just by knowing they weren't at fault. Life wasn't going to be magically fixed with a few logical explanations. Raphael in particular had always been led by the nose by his emotions, making impulsive decisions that depended little on reason.

There was no fixing people. He could not come and shove science into his brothers' faces when they had suffered a degradation and betrayal that had no bounds. The damage done could not ever be taken away. Not with simple reassurances that they weren't at fault, that biology and genetics and instincts were to blame.

There was nothing Donatello could do at all.

* * *

><p><em>20 minutes before<em>

Mikey dreamt of a time when he played some sort of prank (the prank itself was unmemorable) on Raph. His brother had retaliated with his usual fury and the two had become a rolling heap of tangled turtle limbs that bowled through the living room, until-

CRASH!

They smacked into a coffee table and knocked a beautiful blue vase to the floor. Mikey remembered pulling away from Raph as they surveyed the damage; the vase had shattered into a thousand unfixable pieces. A sick feeling grew inside his guts as he stared disbelieving at the vase, Splinter had loved the blue ceramic urn and it was one of the few things that brought colour to their dull underground home and it was irreparably broken.

Similarly, the same ill feeling that he'd damaged something beyond fixing was boiling around his stomach as he clawed his way to consciousness to find himself on the lumpy floor of the sewers.

Mikey blinked in confusion as he gradually located each and every one of his limbs, there was a strange warm…something that he was lying on, legs entangled tightly by tough flesh. For a crazy panicked moment, he imagined that he was on top of a _zombie_ then a loud, familiar snore calmed him as he realised it was just Raph-

Wait a sec. Why was he lying on top of Raph?

The sick feeling grew stronger inside him as he slowly pulled himself away from his brother. Images began to flicker in his mind, roaring memories that began to pound louder and louder in his head and he gritted teeth as he forced them away, something told him they were BAD NEWS.

He blinked blearily at the picture, Raph, lying on the ground, Raph, whose arms were covered in three finger shaped bruises, Raph, whose neck had a BITE wound of all things, Raph, who really….wasn't looking all that great.

The memories inside his head were laughing at him now as he tried to figure out what the hell had happened. A glance round the tunnel revealed they were in the deeper parts of the sewers and quite alone by the looks of it. And given that he was only three fingered person around aside from Raph (unless Raph was into self-harm, something he definitely WAS NOT), that meant that he'd left those bruises on Raph's arms.

And, logically, that also meant that he left all the other wounds in Raph's flesh.

A cold iciness replaced the illness in his guts; Mikey clambered to his feet and dashed down the tunnel, trying to put as much distance as he could between him and his brother. Some sort of craziness had taken over him and Raph wouldn't be safe if he was around. The images bounced mockingly on his brain and he forced them desperately away from him.

_OhmygodohmygodwhatdidIdo?_

He finally came to a stop on a walkway overlooking a water junction. The loud roar of falling water briefly drowned out the memories trying to make their way to his brain but it isn't enough. Mikey slumped to the ground as he finally let last night's activities come to light.

…

With a horrified scream, he scrambled to his feet, glancing wildly around for something to attack, he settled on swinging his fist at the wall. The pain that shot through his hands was nothing compared to the haemorrhaging inside his soul and he repeatedly drove each fist into the wall until-

A furred hand caught one fist and he swung round to attack whatever it was. He caught a brief glimpse of Master Splinter's startled eyes and -he vaguely was aware that attacking _Sensei _of all people was a mega bad idea- his free hand snagged a nunchuck from his belt and suddenly they were swept into a furious battle.

Operating on nothing but the sheer horror of his memories, Mikey's movements were dangerously fast; his limbs were mere blurs as he threw a flurry of punches and kicks aimed at his father. The old rat effortlessly bobbed and ducked away from Mikey's ferocious attacks, his dodges were short and precise as opposed to Mikey's strenuous strikes and it wasn't before long that the turtle slowed and dropped to the floor in sheer exhaustion, depleted both mentally and physically.

Master Splinter did not approach; he instead stood up and backed away. There was an unfamiliar bleakness in his eyes as he silently waited for Michelangelo to gather himself up, hands resting tensely on his walking stick.

Eventually, thought returned to Michelangelo. His bloodied hands began to shake as a pitiful whimper escaped from his lips. He had, he had-no. That. No. There was something wrong with him. Something incredibly wrong. Brain damage. Yes. His brothers' were always claiming that he'd been dropped on his head as a child. That was definitely it.

The soft moan petered into hysterical laughter. Braaaaaaaaain damage. Wasn't it just fuuuuucking fantastic? Like, like that time when one of Don's experiments had gone wrong and all those crazy fumes had flooded the lair and everyone had been so happy. Leo and Raph had hugged each other! That's how happy they were. Best chums and bosom buddies.

A snort slipped from Mikey's mouth. Bosom buddies. Boooooosom. Bosooooooom. Bosom. What a freaking hilarious word. It was amazing, absolutely gobsmacking amusing. It was almost as funny as the craaaazy memories floating around his brain. They were pretty hilarious and utterly unbelievable. Ah, the shit his brain came up with.

It's almost like one of those movies, when everyone gets completely hammered and then they all wake up in the wrong beds. Mikey always enjoyed them, the slow comedic horror as the characters remember what had happened the night before. It was always hilarious to watch, right? The funniest thing that could happen, except, except-

There was that sickness in his guts again, a cold iciness growing in his chest that cut through the hysteria infecting his brain. There was nothing funny here. There was nothing funny at all. He had, holy shit, what had he done? What sort of person did that? No sane, normal person could have. Then, then, he was-

Insane.

The revelation left him cold but calm as he quickly clung to the small comfort it had to offer. If he was crazy, then he wasn't responsible right? It wasn't his fault he and Raph had, had-Jesus Christ, why had it happened?

No. Didn't matter. He was _crazy _after all. Things didn't need to happen for a reason, didn't need to make sense, didn't need to be understood-

Things like raping his own brother.

A curious, half squashed squeak escaped from Mikey's throat as he collapsed in on himself. What the hell was wrong with him? Raph was his brother! His extremely male brother in fact. And yet, and yet-it didn't make sense! Why didn't it make sense? Why had it happened? Never had he even entertained the vaguest thoughts in his brain and yet he had-

_Jesus christ on a fucking diving board-_

Raph was going to kill him.

This, Mikey knew without the slightest doubts. The 20 or so years between them were gone, smashed away by one night's craziness. Mikey had broken something irreparable between them; it was as simple as that. And it didn't matter that he bloody well never meant it, never ever wanted to do it. Raph was going to rip his brain straight out of his skull.

"My son," Master Splinter's voice was calm, like he didn't know what Mikey had done-

Did Master Splinter know what he'd done? Not a single emotion was on his father's face. Did he know? It seemed impossible that he didn't. Master Splinter knew just about everything. He had to know.

But why then, did Master Splinter refer to him as his son if he knew? Surely Master Splinter wouldn't have called him such if he knew how he'd dishonoured Raphael. Had dragged his brother down and, and-

Raped him.

"Not your son," Michelangelo managed to force out from his mouth.

Didn't deserve to be called Splinter's son. Splinter's children had honor. They had integrity and they were good. But he'd done something that no son of Splinter's would have ever done. He couldn't possibly be one of them.

"Why Michelangelo?"

Huh?

Master Splinter was watching him with those impenetrable eyes. "For what reason should I not call you my son?"

He didn't know. How could Splinter not know? The magnitude of Mikey's crime was so large, it was almost impossible that his father could not see it crushing down on him with its weight, painted in bright neon colors.

He shook his head helplessly, unable to explain just how not Splinter's son he was. He couldn't explain this. He couldn't tell Splinter this, not in a million years.

The old rat approached him carefully, placing one slender hand on the turtle's shoulder. "We must go home Michelangelo," he said softly. "There is nothing for us out here."

"Bu-but," words failed to find their way to his mouth as Mikey tried to make sense of what was happening right now. He couldn't possibly go home and face his brothers. Face Raph. No-

Splinter's fingers turned Mikey's chin up to face him and the steel in his father's eyes instantly squashed his protests. Years of conditioning brought him reluctantly to his feet but as Splinter turned away to begin the long trek home, Mikey caught a flash of raw emotion on his father's face.

And he realized that Splinter didn't know what to do at all.


	2. This is Biology

TMNT= Not Mine

It's been ages. I knew that this was going to be a long fic to write...I didn't know it would be a-year-between-chapter-long. I can crank out a crack fic in a matter of minutes but give me one of my serious fics and I'll labour over it forever. I do intend to finish this fic, for what it's worth. But, uh. I'm currently working on a short five chapter TMNT fic that I'll hopefully have posted sometime soon. Then I'll work on the next chapter of Fallout.

The usual warnings. Dark fic, dealing with dark themes. My thanks to my beta, the wonderful DeeMG, for helping me with this chapter and for all the encouragement. She really wants this fic out there.

FF. Thanks for removing the page-breaks three times. NOT.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: This is Biology. It is neither good nor evil. It just simply is.<strong>

"So in conclusion," Mikey droned, shooting his poster a quick glance, "human naughty bits are sooo gross! I mean, they just hang there! All exposed, right there! Can you imagine how yucky it would be having it out there? They need tails to keep them in. Seriously."

His brothers stifled the urge to snigger as Master Splinter raised one eyebrow at his son. "I see, Michelangelo. And this is related to the…reproductive organs of a _turtle_ how?"

The young turtle sagged; "It's so hard to find any information about them! All the stuff I found out was about humans, so that's why I did them instead."

Master Splinter sighed; when he initially had suggested the project he'd meant it as an exercise for his young sons to understand how their bodies worked and the urges that would come with maturity. Unfortunately, he'd failed to take into account that information pertaining to turtles would be hard to find. Raphael had completely refused to do the project and Leonardo had only managed a badly drawn picture...though which of his brothers Leo had managed to convince to pose for him Master Splinter didn't know but he suspected lots of bribery and blackmail was involved.

"Very well," he sighed, "I accept that you have at least done some research and actually completed your project. Donatello, your turn."

Don bounced up and down excitedly as he climbed to his feet and loaded the video into the battered VCR. Finally, it was his turn! He glanced back at his brothers with a smug grin as they frowned in confusion; his project was definitely the best one out of them all.

"Well, I was able to get an actual recording about reproduction in turtles," he said, pausing the video before it could play. He glanced at his father and waited for his approval before he continued.

Master Splinter paused thoughtfully; "Donatello, when did you make this recording?"

The young turtle shuffled awkwardly; "Um…late at night," he admitted, knowing better than to lie to his father, "when everyone was asleep."

The old rat frowned, internally impressed at his child's stealth skills in procuring the recording without his knowledge. "You could have just asked for permission," he chided gently, "I would have allowed you to stay up. But for the next week, there will be no late nights to work on your projects."

Donatello's face fell but he accepted his father's punishment without protest. He started the video and stepped back to watch. For several long minutes, his family was silent as they watched two male red eared sliders battle for dominance, then the winner copulated with a nearby female. Don snuck a glance at his brothers; Raph was struggling to keep a straight face, his beak occasionally twitching into a feral smirk. Leo, on the other hand, was wide-eyed and thoughtful.

And Mikey…

A wide, cheeky grin spread across his brother's face as the video progressed. Eventually, he blurted loudly, "Turtles are natural porn stars!"

The other three turtles fell silent and still as their master's startled gaze swung back at them. "Michelangelo," he asked at last, in his soft, about-to-discipline-a-child voice, "Where did you hear that word?"

Mikey shot a panicked glance at his brothers for help but they all averted their eyes and were suddenly the very picture of innocence. "Um. What word Sensei?" he asked brightly, giving his father his very best, I'm-too-cute-to-punish face.

The old rat, however, was immune to such tactics. "How did you learn the word…porn?" he asked uncomfortably.

The turtles were startled that their father had actually used the word, it sounded so strange coming from his mouth. Mikey let out a slightly hysterical giggle that was immediately shut off when Master Splinter narrowed his eyes at him. Suddenly he couldn't stop the words that spilled from his terrified mouth.

"On TV," he babbled quickly, "it was late at night and you were out and I know I should have been in bed but I may have been scared of the things that live underneath my bed cuz Raph and Leo said that there were monsters there that eat turtles with orange masks and that might have been the reason why I couldn't sleep. So I may have watched TV and I may have seensomeadultthings but that wasn't really my fault, it was the things that were going to eat me if I stayed-"

"Michelangelo," Splinter interrupted, glaring down all of his sons now, "I understand, you can stop speaking. I see that all of my sons have been awake now when they were not supposed to be. Perhaps some extra katas are required to ensure that you will remain in bed when told so. Many extra katas."

"But Master Splinter," Raphael immediately protested, "Leo and I haven't been up past our bedtimes!"

The old rat raised a dubious eyebrow. "None of you are capable of sleeping until Michelangelo has fallen asleep," he pointed out dryly. His most hyper son constantly shifted about at night and only when he fell asleep were his brothers capable of doing the same. "It would be impossible for him to sneak past you all without being noticed. And-"

"Sensei, we did stay up late and watch TV when we weren't supposed to!" Leo blurted apologetically. He was never one for concealing the truth from his father for very long.

"It was weird," Raph observed, "The lady and the man were totally naked and they kept kissing each other all over the other's body. Kissing is gross!"

The three other turtles all muttered their agreement of Raph's assessment. "The woman's breasts were too large," Don said, "They couldn't be natural."

"They were gross too!" Mikey exclaimed. "And they were hairy in places they shouldn't have hair! Um…no offense to you, Master Splinter. I mean, you've got hair all over so it's okay but humans-"

"Enough, my sons," the old rat sighed. "We will have a discussion about humans later. But what have you learnt from Donatello's video?"

The four turtles glanced at the screen. "That…red eared sliders mate underwater?" Raph offered.

"They can hold their breath for a really, really long time," Mikey said brightly. "Like us!"

"Sometimes male turtles fight," Leo observed, "And it's not fighting like when Raph and Mikey fight, which is for fun. They fight because there's a girl turtle."

"Master Splinter!" Mikey quickly spoke up, "Raph and Leo sometimes fight like those turtles. But there are no girl turtles here so Raph and Leo shouldn't be fighting like that."

"There should be no fighting between any of you unless it is in the dojo," Splinter reminded them all dryly, "regardless of whether there are girl turtles about or Michelangelo has broken the toys. Donatello, your thoughts please?"

The last turtle glanced up, startled from deep thought. "If the mutagen never changed us," he began softly, "that would be us. I mean, that's how we started out. And we've changed a lot, Master Splinter, and I know we're a lot like humans. But some part of us still…has to be like that."

The old rat nodded, carefully studying his child. "That is correct," he gestured for his sons to settle themselves. "Your bodies are similar in shape to those of humans. But you started life as simple turtles and it is to them that your bodily urges and needs more closely resemble. Our minds may work like those of a human but we must not forget what we started off as."

"Now my sons, about those katas…"

* * *

><p>That night, after several long and exhausting katas, as Raph dropped onto his sleeping mat, Mikey rolled over and hissed, "Psst, Raph!"<p>

"What?" Raph grumped. They were already in trouble with Master Splinter for staying up late and he had no intentions of pushing it further. What was his brother up to now?

Mikey let out a mischievous giggle that immediately spoke of trouble, "I bet you my tail is larger than yours," he boasted.

Now, Mikey had no idea if this was true or not, but it was always entertaining riling his sibling up over the most random things. They had compared arm lengths, leg lengths, fingers lengths, thumb lengths; even the lengths of their toe nails had not been exempt. Last time, it had backfired and he'd been disgruntled to learn that Raph had surpassed him in height, but surely in this, he'd be the victor!

Raph groaned wearily, "I don't care, Mikey."

Could someone just shut the brat up? Please?

"You don't care?" Mikey repeated, "Don't care or are you scared that my tail might be bigger than yours?"

"Mikey, this has got to be the dumbest and least important thing you've ever brought up," Leo inserted quickly, before Raph could respond, "Now can we please go to sleep? Before Master Splinter finds us talking and gives us even more katas to do tomorrow?"

"Bet my tail is larger than yours too!" Mikey shot back instantly.

His brothers groaned, recognising that tone in his voice. Mikey was not going to let this up until they gave in and laid out the facts. Nothing but the truth was going to shut him up now.

"Alright!" Raph grunted in exasperation, "Don, you be the judge. Hurry up and do this, I wanna sleep."

With that, he rolled over and buried his head underneath his pillow. Really, if Master Splinter caught them staying up for this, it would most definitely be the most ridiculous thing he'd ever been punished for.

Mikey bounced over to Raph's bed and planted himself next to his brother. "Let's all compare!" he chirped, "Leo, come join us! Don can compare the three of us, then the two of you swap so it's totally fair."

"But I don't care about this!" Leo protested from beneath his bed covers.

"I want to know for sure!" Mikey replied stubbornly. He levelled a glare at Leo. "Get over here, bro!"

"The sooner we do this, the sooner we can go to sleep," Raph called out from under his pillow. Mikey incessantly nudged his brother's body with a toe and Raphael reluctantly surfaced from beneath his bedcovers, both turtles climbed to their feet and waited for their brother to join them.

Muttering under his breath about how ridiculous the entire thing was, Leo slipped from his bed and stood beside his brothers. "You'll drop this the moment it's done, right Mikey?"

"Yep!" the turtle agreed cheerfully as Don crouched behind them and glanced at their tails.

"This is so…awkward," Donatello mumbled, sweeping his keen scientist eyes between his brothers. "The things I do for you," he let out a long suffering sigh, one that both Raph and Leo silently echoed.

Finally, he stood back and announced (with a small measure of malicious glee); "Raph's tail is larger than both of yours."

It was true. Raph's tail was actually noticeably larger than both Leo's tail and Mikey's. Theirs were about the same size but Raph's was significantly larger. He wondered briefly about that but dismissed it, Raph had always been a bit bigger than the rest of them.

"What?" Mikey demanded incredulously. He twisted his head and glared at his brother. "No way. I don't believe you. Leo! Check!"

Don huffed at his brother's disbelief but silently exchanged places with Leo. Getting into an argument would just prolong this ridiculous competition and Splinter would probably just catch them and give them even more punishments!

Leo shuffled gawkily about as he glanced at his brother's backsides. Mikey totally owed him for this. This was stupid, it was ridiculous, it was utterly pointless…he was wasting time getting annoyed at the whole thing. Raph's tail was indeed larger than Mikey's and it was larger than Don's.

"Don's right," he announced. "Raph has the largest tail out of all of us. _Now _can we go to sleep?"

"My sons?" Master Splinter stood by the door, eyes narrowed at the four children who were definitely-not-asleep. "I see that I did not assign you enough katas…"

* * *

><p>Donatello carefully pulled the old video tapes free from his lab's bookshelf. He hadn't thought about them in years, the homework that Master Splinter had assigned them once upon a time when they were small in an effort to understand that they were different from humans. An important fact that had gradually slipped their minds after meeting April and Casey and being treated like they<em> were<em> human.

There is a sickness rolling in his plastron, the heavy feeling that he's done something wrong. He wanted to crawl back into bed and hide under his bed-sheets and never see the light of the world again. Empathy, he realised distantly, is a terrible thing. He knew, logically speaking, that he could have never predicted this. He knew, logically speaking, that none of this is his fault.

The fierce _need_ to believe that he could have done something, that he could have prevented it, that it is his fault is completely illogical and flat-out wrong. But the thought that Mikey has to burden the guilt all alone makes him desperate to claim even the tiniest bit of the blame.

"Donatello?" Master Splinter cast a worried eye over Raphael's still form; his sudden appearance in the doorway of Don's lab had the reptilian engineer flinching. He dropped the video tapes; they clattered on the ground, the noise loud when compared against the previous silence of the room. Don had been unable to tolerate Leo's guilt ridden presence for only a few minutes and had quickly sent his brother away.

"Master Splinter! Where's…Mikey?" Don warily glanced over his father's shoulder as he bent down to retrieve the tapes, as if expecting to see the brother in question lurking behind there.

"He has gone to his room," the rat answered softly, "I asked Leonardo to keep an eye on him. Michelangelo was very…upset."

Understatement of the century.

"Oh," Donatello replied shortly. Even from down here he could hear the demolitions occurring in Michelangelo's room.

He gazed at Master Splinter and his father stared back. Gradually, it occurred to Don that neither of them had the slightest idea of where to even begin. What did one say? What did one do? How do you even start to fix a situation like this? Words, incomplete sentences bubble to Don's tongue, none of them the slightest bit helpful. The silence drew on, devastating in its quiet accusations, mocking their inaction.

"I think Raph's gone catonic," Don blurted finally. He bit his lip, glanced briefly at his brother sprawled out on the little infirmary bed that lived inside his lab. The vague thought that he should probably start treating the few obvious wounds on Raphael's body arose but Raph lost so much control in the past 12 hours that he doesn't dare to touch him without his permission and take away the little that remains. They were minor things that Raph would normally take care of himself. "Leo's a mess because of what he-"

He can't finish that sentence, his throat closed without his permission and Don reflexively touched his neck as if to assure himself that he can still breathe. "Sensei-father, I don't know what to-"

A pair of warm, furry arms wrapped around him and he instinctively relaxed in his father's embrace. "Hush," Master Splinter advised gently, "No one is expecting you to fix this. No one is blaming you for happened."

Don stared miserably at his father, "They will, when they pull themselves together enough. 'Don _always _knows everything. He should have known that something might happen. He always has all the answers. He's always prepared for-"

"Hush," his father repeated, arms squeezing gently. "We will work things out as we always have done, together as a family."

It took a few minutes but eventually Donatello gathered himself up and pushed his father's arms away from him. "Do…you know what happened yesterday? With Raph and Mikey? I mean, I _think_ I know what happened though I don't know why – there isn't a logical reason for it, it shouldn't have happened-"

A gentle paw on his shoulder halted his babbling. "I know," Master Splinter confessed simply. "When I found Michelangelo, I could smell it on him. As to _why _it happened, that is something that needs to be investigated, but only when Raphael is awake and coherent for it."

"I don't know how we're going to wake him up," Don muttered quietly, hands tightly clenching the railing of the sick bed.

"It would be best if we let him wake on his own terms. I believe he has retreated deep within himself to deal with yesterday's event. When he is ready, that is when he will wake. For now, we should give Michelangelo the same. He was extremely distressed when I came upon him, to the point of violence. For a hurt this deep, there are no cures, we can only allow time itself to dull the pain."

"Time," Donatello repeated dully.

As if time would make everything better. As if time could change what had happened between his two brothers. Nothing was ever going to fix this. Nothing. You don't pick yourself up and continue like everything was normal after something like this.

Don's world had been broken, everything he thought he knew about himself and his brothers had been turned upside. He had always prided himself about their intelligence, their sentience. The mutagen had elevated them beyond being simple animals. This was the fact of their lives.

Hadn't it?

It could have been him in Michelangelo's place. His brother had always been the fastest out of all of them, the only one capable of evading his father's quick strikes. But had Splinter been a little bit slower-

No, focus on the here and now. Ruminating on the past and the what-could-have-beens wasn't going to help anyone.

Donatello's eyes swept across his brother's battered form and he flinched slightly. "Master Splinter-Father," he whispered fearfully, "He isn't bleeding from-from," Don's voice faltered at what he was saying and he swallowed nervously before continuing, "Down there or if he is, I didn't see. He could get infected so, so-"

Master Splinter hesitated for a moment, then gently nudged Donatello away from his brother. "I will check," he promised, forcing down any swells of emotion. His sons needed him to be clear-headed, even though his world had been completely and irrevocably shaken. "I think it would be best for Raphael is only one of us handles him while he is-"

The old rat cut off as he took in Donatello's demeanour. His son's dark eyes were fixed on Raphael's motionless body and he was far too stiff and still.

Just like before yesterday's events.

"Donatello!" Splinter said sharply and stepped between his two sons quickly. He would not allow a repeat, ever.

The sound of Splinter's voice combined with breaking Donatello's line of sight sent a shudder through the turtle's body. Don shook his head slowly, blinking several times as he returned to himself. If it was possible for him, he would have paled as reason was restored.

"Father," he gasped, pupils dilated enormously wide, "I think if it's best if you don't allow any of us in here with Raphael. For a while. A very long while. In fact, contact between any of us should be limited." He forcibly turned his shell to his brother and waved a hand vaguely behind him; "It would be best to give him a shower as soon as possible."

Under his breath, Donatello mumbled to himself, "I think, think the shock kept me from noticing the pheromones but given enough time, it overwhelmed my mind."

The old rat flinched at Donatello's words. "I sent Leonardo to keep an eye on Michelangelo," he said as fear plunged through his heart.

Upstairs is eerily silent.

* * *

><p>Leo leant tiredly against Mikey's door. His brother had stormed straight into his room without a word and Master Splinter had stopped on his way to Don's lab to quietly ask Leo to watch his brother. The door was locked and Mikey had not responded to his calls to open it. All he could do now was listen to his brother's angered pacing, the occasional sound of items smashing against the walls and Leo could only wonder what had reduced Mikey to such a state.<p>

Something had gone wrong with them; some sort of craziness had seized control of them during yesterday's training session. That, Leo knew. His memories weren't exactly clear; he remembered flashes of battle with his brothers, a spar gone out of control and turned deadly, and a band of purple and unquenchable bloodlust. The specifics remained frustratingly out of reach but something told him he did not want to know the details. From what he'd managed to piece together since awakening, Raphael and Michelangelo had vanished during the fight and Master Splinter had to intervene between Donatello and himself.

Donatello…

His brother was terrified of him, of that Leonardo had no doubt. He'd flinched every time Leo had gotten close and his hands had constantly flicked towards his bo as they had checked over Raph in the lab. Don had been frustratingly tightlipped about what had happened yesterday, acting like he should know why Mikey and Raph disappearing together was such a major crime. Like he, Leonardo, was being deliberately obtuse about things and should know why they had completely flipped out.

He wasn't.

Something heavy smashed against the door and Leonardo knew he couldn't let this continue. Mikey was clearly upset about something but it was difficult enough to get things in their underground home.

Leo picked the lock; it took him a grand total of ten seconds.

Michelangelo swung round, hefting up his action figure trophy case at him and snarled, "GET OUT!"

"Whoa!" Leo said, holding his hands out to placate his unstable brother, "Mikey, what's wrong?"

His brother's demeanour was feverish and Leo wondered if this was a symptom of some disease they'd all come down with. "Get out Leo," Michelangelo's voice was dangerously soft.

"You are smashing your room to pieces," Leonardo pointed out reasonably. "Please, just calm down. Take a deep breath."

Michelangelo paused and glanced at the case in his hand for half a second. Then he heaved it at the wall with all his strength and the two turtles watched it explode into a shower of plastic.

Leonardo didn't say anything as he watched the debris settle. Mikey had resumed his furious pacing, his muscles tensing and relaxing as he fought to keep control of himself. It was almost like watching Raph.

Except Raph was downstairs. Unconscious. Because of something Mikey had done.

Something which had to be more than a simple fight.

"Didn't do it," Michelangelo muttered so softly under his breath that Leo almost missed his words; "Didn't do it, didn't want to do it. Can't have done it. No. Wasn't me. I must be crazy right? Would have never done it. Ever. Therefore, not me. That's the way it works, right?"

His voice broke on the last sentence and Leonardo could hear the tears in them. Leo shifted uncomfortably but didn't move closer to his agitated brother. The way Mikey was at the moment, any move on Leonardo's part would not be well received.

Michelangelo turned at last to face his brother, and Leo had never seen him looking so lost before in his life. "Leo," he choked, "Leo, I've done something_ terrible_."

That was the only warning Leo got before his brother threw himself into Leo's arms and broke into tears. Leonardo wrapped his arms around his brother and hugged tightly. "Hey," he said softly, "Easy there."

He didn't offer empty platitudes of comfort, assurances that everything would be alright because at the moment, every instinct of his was screaming that it wouldn't be. He didn't even know what the situation was. But what he could do was hold on tight and let Mikey know that he was there.

Mikey eventually shifted back. "You don't understand," he whispered in agitation, "I can't have done it. I've never _ever _thought about Raph that way. Any of you that way. I don't- No, I just couldn't have done it, Leo. I couldn't. I have to be having a really, really fucked up nightmare."

"Mikey," Leo said slowly, "I don't even know what you've done."

Michelangelo went still. Then he was scrambling out of Leo's arms and glaring at him from across the room. "Thought you knew," he laughed bitterly. Madly. "Thought for a moment things were okay because you knew and you didn't care. But you're going to hate me. Once you know what, what I did. To Raphael. You're going to put a blade right through my neck," Michelangelo tapped the aforementioned part of his anatomy and he suddenly looked absolutely gleeful at this prospect. "Please. You'll do that, right?"

Leonardo felt physically ill as he stared with horrified eyes at his brother. "What-no! No, I won't! Why would you even ask me to-"

The manic energy faded from his brother and he stared at Leonardo with dull eyes. "You don't know," he said simply. "That's why you don't hate me."

Leonardo levelled a stunned gaze at his brother. This...this, what the hell was going on here? What exactly had Leonardo missed? Events were happening too quickly for him to process and Mikey was downright _suicidal_.

Even though every fibre of his being protested that he didn't want to know, he asked.

And Michelangelo answered.

Leonardo stared at his brother. This, this had to be a sick joke his brother was playing on him. There was no way that could have happened. No way. He knew his brothers, knew them as well as he knew himself and this was simply not possible. He felt physically ill at even the thought of it.

But his memory ever so helpfully decided to remind himself that last night they had all lost control. They had attacked each other with the intent to cause actual harm to the other. Was it too much to suppose…?

No. He violently shuddered at thought. No, it was not possible.

"I don't believe you," he said flatly, "You wouldn't. I know you and I know you can't have possibly-"

Michelangelo smiled at him.

It was an empty and unpleasant expression and that more than anything convinced Leonardo that there might be truth to his brother's words. "I think I know what I did," he said decisively. He paused a moment to let that sink in and for Leo to protest. His brother does not. "Sword now, please?"

Leonardo's face tightened and he backed away. "No Michelangelo, that's not an option-"

His brother lunged for him and Leo forced himself away. He can't let Mikey get his hands on his blades; he grabbed his brother's hands to keep them away from his weapons. They grappled with each other and crashed to the floor-

And Mikey smells strange.

His brother's scent goes straight through his brain and something about it is wrong, wrong, wrong (it smells almost a bit like Raph) and suddenly Leo is downright _vicious_. Everything blurs after that, the weapons on his back are forgotten as he and Michelangelo claw and bite wildly at each other. There's blood in his mouth, his brother's blood and he can't care less-

"Leonardo! Michelangelo!" a voice snapped sharply and then he is being hauled bodily of his brother and something is stuck under his nostrils-

The kick from the smelling salts brings him crashing back to awareness. He gaped dumbly at his wounded brother as Master Splinter brings Michelangelo down then flashes the container under his brother's nostrils. What-?

He stared at the blood trickling from the cuts that he had managed to inflict. Then he tasted the blood in his mouth, blood which belongs to Michelangelo and feels his stomach rebel. He is too numb to climb to his feet and rush to the toilet; instead he lets himself puke on the floor.

Leonardo stares up at his master with frightened eyes. "Father? What is wrong with us?"

* * *

><p>The old rat dragged his children downstairs. Donatello hovered at the end of the living room, far, far away from them. He gave a start at the sight of his wounded brothers and almost took a step towards them to help then flinched back and let his hands fall uselessly at his side.<p>

"Are you guys alright?" he asked nervously.

Mikey gave a hysterical laugh. It's the sound of someone who has completely fallen to pieces. "Oh you know, we just lost control again and tried to kill each other," he said. "Everything, everything is going absolutely wonderful. It's good to know the craziness isn't limited to just me."

Donatello bit his lip hesitantly and glanced at his father. "Michelangelo should have a shower," he said. "We should all have a shower in fact. The pheromones will keep setting us off otherwise and Mikey must be covered in Raph's. It'll make us violent with each other with that floating above our heads."

Splinter nodded with agreement. "Michelangelo, please do as your brother says."

Mikey gave an exaggerated bow in response and swaggered off quickly. Leo watched his brother's retreating shell with trepidation. "Master Splinter, you should go with him. Before we…lost control, he was going for my swords. Don't leave him alone."

His father winced and took a step after Michelangelo. "Can I trust you to keep a sensible distance between yourselves?"

Donatello flinched at the idea of being alone with his brother but didn't raise a word of protest. "Yes," Leonardo swallowed reluctantly, unsteady at how quickly things were falling apart, how little control they seemed to have over themselves. "We should be fine."

The two turtles tracked their father's progress to the bathroom then Leonardo turned his gaze to his brother. For a moment, he braced himself then decided he can't live in ignorance any longer. "Don," he said, "what is going on? What is happening to us?"

Donatello drew in on himself. "I think," he said slowly; "That we're having some sort of mating season."

Leo gazed at him with wide eyes. "Is that even possible?"

His brother gave a bitter smile and gestured to their silent home. "What else could this be? Does any of this strike you as normal? The lack of control, increased aggression to the point where we can't even _think-_"

"Then Mikey really-?"

"Yeah," Don said brokenly, "Yeah, he did."

Leonardo drew back. "Fuck," he said and he knew that he would never be able to find the words to accurately describe the, the utter wrongness of their situation. "But, it shouldn't be happening, right? No female mutant turtles, no point, Donnie."

Don was quiet for far too long. "Theoretically, we shouldn't," he said, grateful for this scientific discussion to keep his mind off other things. "Without the pheromones given off by a female turtle we shouldn't be behaving like this. But…"

"But?" There was always a rebuttal.

"We all fixated on Raphael. He stayed out of it, didn't get involved in the fight. And, I've been thinking, female red eared sliders are _larger_ than males."

Leo gaped. "We would know," he protested weakly.

"Would we?" Don turned and pinned a relentless stare at his brother. "Leo, we aren't sexually dimorphic like humans. There are very few physical differences between genders."

"He sounds and behaves male," Leo insisted.

Don shook his head as he became increasingly distressed. "Male? By whose definition? Humans? Yes. Turtles are completely different organisms with a different biology. Thinking like that is the reason why we were unprepared for this, this craziness. We've been defining ourselves in human terms and we're not."

"Well, surely wouldn't _Raph know_?"

Donatello bit his lip and then shook his head again and turned away. "It doesn't make sense," he said with frustration. "Master Splinter at the very least would have noticed a disparity in our scents. He would have known. And I remember when we hit puberty, I definitely caught Raph engaged in…self-intimacy. There is something that I'm missing."

"Well, can't you run tests? Check if Raph has a Y chromosome?"

"Human definition," Don reminded him tersely. "Turtles don't have sex chromosomes. Gender is determined by the temperature the eggs are kept at. And I'm not doing anything to him until he wakes up."

Leonardo rubbed a hand over his beak tiredly. "This is insane," he said at last, "This can't be real. Mikey can't have-"

"It could have been anyone of us," Donatello snapped, spinning round and glaring at his brother. "Leo, no matter what you think, _it could have been anyone of us_. Raph and Mikey are going to need us and you cannot forget that. It could be you in Mikey's place right now. It's not his fault. It's not his-"

His emotions finally getting the better of him, Donatello burst into tears.

Leonardo could only stand helplessly at the other side of the room and watch.

* * *

><p>Michelangelo stood in the shower, head tipped back. He might have been crying. Or it could just be the water running down his face. It is impossible to tell. Eventually, he reached out and slowly turned off the tap and then turned to his father.<p>

"I think we're going insane," he confesses. The prospect cheers him immensely. If they are all mad, no one can judge him, right?

Master Splinter leans forward and swept his child into a tight hug. "No," he said sadly, "I am afraid you are not. This is a remnant from the creatures we were originally. Nothing more, nothing less."

Michelangelo trembled in his arms as his façade comes crumpling down at last. "I wish," he said softly, "That I was a simple turtle. It wouldn't hurt so much then."

His father tightened his grip. "I wish," Master Splinter replied gently, "That I could have prepared you for this. And that you had never known about the world and rules of humans. We have forgotten ourselves."

"Raphael is going to hate me forever," Michelangelo whispered.

Master Splinter has no reply for that.


	3. Nothing Can Be Done

TMNT is not mine.

It's been ages but not a year between chapters ages. Now it's only six months. I'm getting slightly better at this.

My thanks to DeeMG for betaing this fic.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

Donatello claimed the bathroom a few minutes after Michelangelo vacated it. Leonardo sat alone in the living room for a while, listening to the sound of his father shuffling about in the kitchen, preparing tea.

Tea.

Such a mundane item and yet it felt entirely alien in this world Leonardo had woken up to. Michelangelo had-had _violated_ Raphael and they were all taking showers like that would fix their minds and their bodies and-and Splinter was making tea.

Leonardo stood up and made a beeline for the entrance of the lair. Right now, they are all dangerous to each other and Leo cannot bear the thought of causing more damage to his brothers. It was bad enough that he'd lost control in a fight with Mikey. It was bad enough that he'd tried to-

No. No. Don't think about that.

He'd always been able to control his mind but this time the memories were relentless. They attacked him as he stumbled down the sewer pipe.

_No, no, no, no, no, please I don't want to remember this._

But he owed it to his brothers to remember and eventually he crumbles and the horror washes over him.

* * *

><p>Good morning, Michelangelo. Congratulations, you screwed your brother last night. How does that make you feel?<p>

Like I just want to die.

Michelangelo wasn't prone to fits of depression, repressing his emotions or that self-harm shit. He was more of a live-in-the-moment kind of turtle. Raph's eaten all the cookies? Tease him about getting fat and bake some more. Donatello has 'borrowed' his prized skateboard and transformed it into a hoverboard? Um, go out and try to break his neck mastering the damn thing.

The point is, Mikey didn't dwell on things. There was always something more interesting he could be doing, so why bother wasting your time moaning and groaning about the past? It had served him well, given the life they had lived. Oh, Shredder tried killing us last week? Did you see the sweet split-kick I used to take down those Foot ninja? The Mikester was too quick for those bozos.

And so, after waking up to the most horrifying event in his young life thus far, Michangelo's automatic defence systems were failing for the first time. No matter which way he looked at it he couldn't see the bright side of things. Well. Raph had always been convinced that they would all die as virgins. No. Not funny at all. Not funny the slightest. He felt ill, every inch of his bones was heavy and that if he so much as tilted his head, he would puke. Except his throat was impossibly tight, bile would rise up and he'd swallow it down, unwilling to let himself fall apart.

Except he had. He'd lost it in the moment he'd gone for Leo's swords. Which was stupid. Killing himself wouldn't fix _anything_ and was quite frankly a _shitty_ way of dealing with it. Raphael deserved the chance to beat him to death and wring his stupid neck. His family was reeling and a complete mess and if there was one thing he could do, it was _not make_ the situation worse. Offing himself would be the icing of the cake and shatter thing irreparably. The guilt would do everyone in. Even Raph. Especially Raph.

"Michelangelo?"

There was no dealing with this though. There was no way he could look at his family and-and think everything was going to be fine. Every challenge they'd come up against, they had always managed to come out on top. But not this. Those challenges had always come from the outside, this was something internal and the bond that had always pulled them through was damaged, if not forever broken.

"Michelangelo!"

The sharpness in Splinter's voice had Mikey snapping to attention reflexively. After his shower, his father had led him to the dojo and then left to prepare tea. He focused on Splinter with startling intensity. The ninjitsu master paused in his actions then pushed a cup of herbal tea towards his son. Mikey wordlessly accepted the cup but did not drink it. Instead he stared into its murky depths and fiddled with its handle.

The old rat studied his son for a moment, uncertain how to approach his conflicted child or the situation itself. "Michelangelo," he began slowly, grasping for some form of guidance. He reached forward and placed a comforting hand on the turtle's knee. "Please. Understand that you have my permission to speak freely at any time. How are you – no. Are you well?"

The turtle did not raise his eyes to his father though he shifted slightly into his touch. "I – I don't know Sensei," he answered haltingly. "I just don't. I don't know what to think. I – I didn't mean to do it!" Michelangelo looked up suddenly, imploring his parent to believe him. "Sensei, I have no idea what is wrong with me. Why I attacked Leo. Why, why I did – Raph. Shit. Sensei. He's been hurt. He's been hurt really, really badly and – fuck. I'm the one the one who did that…who did that to-"

Michelangelo cut off, swallowing the rest of his words as he shook his head in denial, unable to continue. Unwillingly his memories returned; tauntingly, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the torture.

"I'm sorry," Mikey whispered, as tears slowly escaped from under his eyelids. "I…I accept whatever punishment you deem fitting. I'll leave the lair permanently if that's what you want Sensei."

Master Splinter took a long sip of tea as he considered his words. Then, "I cannot accept your apology when I am not the one who you have committed the offence against. Nor will there be a punishment," he said eventually.

Mikey's head snapped up and he opened his mouth to protest. "Sensei, I hurt-"

"Michelangelo," Splinter said sharply. "There will never be a punishment adequate to fix this, this violation. Do you think so little of your brothers that such penance will resolve all the damage done?"

"No!" the turtle protested; horrified by the implications of his master's words. "No I don't. But – but Sensei, you can't just, just – I hurt my brothers, hurt Raphael and you'll just let it go- ?"

"Who said anything about letting it go?" the old rat interrupted. He shifted his weight backwards and something, the indiscernible straightening of his spine perhaps, silenced Michelangelo's next protest. "A punishment would achieve nothing except to ease your own guilt. No Michelangelo; for us to move from this, we each must face the full consequences of our actions," here the slightest note of self-recrimination slid into Splinter's tone. Then the old rat leant forward and gently tipped his sons face towards him. "I do not blame you," he said firmly. "Donatello I am certain does not blame you. Leonardo –"

"Didn't believe me," Mikey gave a hollow laugh, "Refused to believe it, in fact."

"Your brothers know you," Master Splinter said firmly, "As do I. They know that you would have never acted towards them in such a manner with a rational mindset. It is your body, your instincts that betrayed them. Betrayed you." Seeing the doubtful expression on his son's face, the rat challenged; "Have you ever experienced your instincts on such a visceral level before?"

Michelangelo shook his head. "No Sensei," he answered quietly.

"Then should I blame you for something that you could never have hoped to control? When you had never had any experience with it before? Tell me Michelangelo, where is the logic in that?"

Caught by his father's reasoning, Mikey hesitated. "There isn't any," he acknowledged slowlu. "But Sensei, you've trained us, taught us to control ourselves. We're better than this. We shouldn't have behaved like animals."

"I've also taught you to listen to your instincts," Splinter reminded his child tersely. "To listen to that animal part of your mind that knows when danger is near when your rational mind does not. The part that sometimes tells you to move when your training would otherwise keep you in a position that would cause you to lose a limb or your life. Is it entirely unreasonable to expect that it could make you forget yourself entirely?"

Michelangelo lowered his gaze to the cup of tea in front of him. He felt uncomfortable, none of this was going anything like he'd imagined. He'd entered this room, expecting to face the full brunt of his father's anger and disgust. Hell, he'd even expected to face exile from the clan. He was not prepared for this, for his father's sympathy and understanding. How could he not be blamed for this, for him to go unpunished? It was incomprehensible. It was unbelievable. If his father had expressed fury, hatred at him, Mikey would have accepted it without a word. Those were emotions that were boiling away at him on the inside, ones that he could understand.

"I don't…" Mikey's voice trailed off weakly. "What would you have me do Sensei?" he demanded desperately.

Master Splinter gazed pityingly at his child. "I do not know Michelangelo," he admitted heavily. "I will not punish you, there's so much guilt and anguish inside you that will torment more thoroughly than anything I could ever devise. This is your own burden to bear; it is up to you to determine how you will handle it."

The turtle stared up at his father in disbelief. "That's it?" he asked flatly. After a heartbeat, he was seized by irrational anger. "That can't be it! How, how, how am I supposed to fix things between me and Raph-"

"Perhaps you should speak with your brother himself when he awakens," Splinter said sharply. "Ask him for his thoughts and see what leads from there. Trust cannot be fixed once it has been broken, Michelangelo. But it can be earned anew and rebuilt. It will never be the same but it will be _something._"

The turtle shook his head in denial against his father's words. "No, no, no, no! You've got to give me more than that. I can't do it, I can't." _I can't face Raph_, went unspoken.

"Enough!" Splinter's eyes glittered dangerously. "My son, you jump so quickly to search for a solution to this situation as if it will make your brothers forget what has happened. There are no quick fixes for this and you assume that our lives will resume their normal course. There is every possibility that such will not be that case and you must be prepared for such a resolution. You stand in a place that I have never been and cannot go. All I can do is provide counsel. You may choose to heed it or you may choose to ignore it but only you can move yourself forward."

Michelangelo backed down, temporarily cowed as he realised his father was just as out of his depths as he was. But that did not stop the bitterness directed at Splinter from arising. His father had always been a guiding force in his life; he'd always been there with wise words and comfort and could always make things right. And now, now when he needed his father the most, Splinter was failing him.

This just wasn't right. This couldn't be happening. He refused to believe it. Splinter had to know _something._

Maybe…maybe…maybe, his father _did _know what to say to fix this and was just withholding the words because he didn't know how badly Michelangelo needed to hear them…

He could not bear to even consider the alternative. There lay a giant gaping chasm of destroyed brotherhood and, and a violation that he could not even begin to think about that he would have to cross alone.

"I raped him," he suddenly blurted in the half hopes that his father would just make things right now that he had confessed his guilt –

The words hung in the room, heavy and foreboding and ugly but painfully true. After a heartbeat, Mikey desperately wished that he could take them back. Could choke them down as he swallowed the truth away in a place it could never be found. He dropped his gaze to his untouched tea, not daring to look at his father as he twitched impatiently and awaited the guillotine that was sure to fall.

"I know," Splinter acknowledged after an eternity. The old rat slowly gathered his own tea cup and plate up and rose to his feet. He padded silently out of the dojo, leaving Michelangelo alone in bitter defeat.

Cold numbness stole over the turtle as he finally acknowledged the severity of the situation and the depths of his guilt. He had done it. Abused, betrayed his brother in the worst possible way, crossing a line he never ever thought himself capable of crossing.

What sort of monster are you, Mikey-boy? He wondered to himself as he gazed at his tea cup. He reached down to it, the tea was cold. No matter. It would still work as it was intended. Sleep would be nice. Maybe if he slept long enough, this would all turn out to be nothing more than a nightmare.

It was the only thing he could bring himself to hope.

He lifted the cup and drank.

* * *

><p>Splinter waited until he heard the sound of his son's body hitting the dojo's floor. The decision to drug his child weighed heavily on him but at this point he recognised that Michelangelo needed the rationality that a deep sleep would give him. He would continue in circles otherwise, swinging between denial of his crime and the compulsive need to demand a solution that his Sensei could not provide. Sleep would provide him a temporary break from the thoughts and guilt that was eating him up inside.<p>

The old rat padded silently back into the room and began the arduous task of dragging his son up to Splinter's own room. It was a strange thing, not being able to call for help from the rest of his children. He could not rely on them, could not _trust _them with each other and such a concept was frightening. How can he hope to keep his family from falling apart when his children cannot even remain in each other presence without attacking each other?

Splinter tucked Michelangelo into his futon, pausing a moment to trace his child's features. So young and yet so hurt, weighed down by a guilt that no being should ever have to carry. Biology had been cruel to his children, he had always known this but never had it struck in such a way before, attacking at their very core.

The old rat drew back slowly; glancing around at his room. Whilst just about anything could be a weapon in the hands of a trained ninja, Splinter carefully removed the obvious weapons, spare ninjaken, shurikens, throwing knives. It was tempting to strip his room of everything but the futon in case Michelangelo came to the same unpleasant conclusion that had sent him after Leonardo's swords. But he hoped that waking up inside his father's room would provide the turtle enough comfort to keep him from such thoughts. In any case, Splinter would try to be there when the sleeping potion wore off.

And now…

Now to attend to his other sons.

Leonardo, he knew had left the lair before he'd spoken to Michelangelo. Splinter understood that his eldest was struggling to adjust to the grim reality that he had woken up to and did not begrudge his need for space. At the very least, he could trust that Leonardo was far away from his other brothers and would not be able to cause any harm to them. Hopefully without the pheromones that Rahpael was giving off, he would retain his rationality and would be able to remain safe in the sewer system.

Splinter carefully approached Donatello, who was hunched over on the couch with his old laptop at his knees. The turtle was staring blankly at the screen and he slowly looked up at his father.

"Michelangelo?" he asked softly.

"He is sleeping and will not wake until tomorrow," Splinter replied. The old rat looked over his son, misery showed in Donatello's tense posture. "Donatello?"

The turtle glanced down at the screen and his face tightened. "…April just messaged me, asking if we wanted to come over tonight and watch a movie," he said miserably. "I…I don't even know what to do." He gave a bitter laugh. "I don't want to think about seeing her. Not now, now for a very long time."

Splinter hesitated as he pondered this new dilemma. He had completely forgotten the human side of their little family and they…could they handle this? They had proven themselves many times but Splinter was unsure their friendship would be able to survive the revelation of this development.

He gave out a quiet sigh. Concealing the truth from them was impossible but that did not mean that they had to know immediately. Not until he was certain his sons had started to come to terms with this.

There was the very real possibility that they would have to wait for ever.

"I will speak to her," Splinter said, holding out a hand.

"Father?" Donatello gave the old rat a startled look.

"I will not tell her what has happened here. But I will inform her that contact between us will be limited in the days to come. Your shellcell, Donatello," he prompted.

"Oh," and Donatello looked faintly relieved as he reached out to hand over the device. "…Thank you," he said quietly.

Splinter carefully dialled April's number as he drifted into the dojo for privacy. This…would not be an easy conversation.

* * *

><p>"Hi Don," April did not waste time in answering her phone.<p>

"Hello Ms O'Neil," Splinter greeted cordially.

"Master Splinter? Why are you- is everything alright? Are the boys hurt?"

Oh Miss O'Neil, his sons were hurt but not in a way that you could ever hope to help.

Splinter closed his eyes. So much concern, so much worry, so much _love_ for their strange little family. Such a thing was something they never expected to have from a human and yet April and Casey both were devout in their affection.

"Miss O'Neil, something has come up," he replied softly.

"Master Splinter?" April did not hide the worry in her voice but she was brisk and calm in her anxiety. "How can I help you, what do you need?"

Time. An eternity to unravel the damage done to his sons by their own mutated biology. Impossible things that he could only waste hope for. "Solitude," he replied. "We need solitude, Miss O'Neil."

April paused then asked slowly, "Splinter, I'm not sure I understand. What do you mean?" There was the slightest bit of fear in her voice now, fear for the friendship that had been built between them.

The old rat's grip tightened on the shell cell. "April," he said softly. "I assure you we are not in danger. However it would be best if you and Casey do not come down to the Lair in any time in the foreseeable future."

April was quiet for several long minutes as she mulled over this. "What's going on Splinter? Are you sure I can't help?"

"No," Splinter said firmly. "I'm sorry Miss O'Neil but your presence here would not help. Please do not take offense but if anything, it would make things _worse._"

"I understand," and from the human's tone he could sense that he had her acquiescence. She was not happy about it but she would obey and for that he was grateful. Mr Jones would listen to April and would not insist on seeing for himself that the turtles were unharmed like he would if Splinter had been the one to contact him.

"Thank you," the old rat said tiredly. "I will contact you when things settle down here."

"Okay," she replied, somewhat reassured.

Splinter hesitated for a moment. "April…you may not hear from us for a very long time," he warned.

He could almost see the frown on her face. "That's not going to happen," she declared.

"Miss O'Neil-"

"Splinter," she interrupted. "You guys are my family. I can't just ignore you until the end of time."

The old rat gave the dojo wall an unhappy stare. "I fear that you would cause more harm than good if you visit us before we are ready," he cautioned stiffly.

April sighed miserably into the phone. "Fine, fine. But I can't promise we'll wait forever."

It was the best that he was going to get. Splinter frowned but accepted it. "Thank you April. Goodbye."

"Goodbye Splinter."

He ended the call. Then his shoulders slumped as he stared blankly at the wall.

What were they going to do now?

* * *

><p>The Lair was deathly quiet when Leonardo returned to the Lair. The turtle silently slipped inside, pausing when he caught sight of Donatello curled up on the couch, typing furiously away at his laptop. For half a moment, Leo took in the sight of his tired brother, his eyes mapping the bruises and cuts -and…were those bites?- on his skin. Then, before Donatello could take notice of his staring, Leo approached carefully.<p>

Donatello glanced up and physically recoiled at the sight of his brother. He snapped his laptop shut and climbed quickly to his feet.

"Hey," Leonardo called out, determined to speak to his brother before he could retreat.

"Oh hey Leo, didn't see you there," Don said uncomfortably as he backed away from Leo, maintaining a large distance between them. "I was just doing some reading on red-eared sliders, I'll head up to my room now."

"Wait!" the other turtle insisted. He was frustrated to realise that he could not physically confront his brother, not without running the risk of setting them off again and giving in to their instincts.

"Master Splinter is taking care of Raphael. Mikey….Mikey is asleep in his room, won't wake up until tomorrow courtesy of whatever Splinter gave him," Don spoke quickly as he continued to cross the room, beelining straight to his room and leaving Leo behind.

"I need to speak to you," Leonardo said powerlessly, watching his brother's retreating shell.

The click of Donatello's door closing was his answer. Leo stood despondently in the empty room, alone and with no answers. There was _nothing_ that he could do and that was a terrifying thought, the grim realisation that his family had been struck so deeply at their core and Leo, with all his skills, knowledge and training, could do nothing to help.

He stared after his brother. He could not even apologize and something told him even if he did, it would not help. And…and Leo could not even begin to figure out what he was going to do about his other brothers.

_It's not his fault!_

Donatello's words echoed loud inside Leonardo's head and the turtle ducked his head unhappily. Mikey's anguished face flickered in front of him just as he recalled Raphael's silent and prone form in the infirmary.

What could they do now?

He did not know the answer.

The door to the infirmary, set opposite of Donatello's lab, opened and Splinter stepped through quietly before closing the door. The old rat did not look surprised at Leonardo's presence, he tilted his head slightly towards the kitchen and Leonardo obediently followed his father. Splinter gently tapped a chair and Leonardo slid into the seat as the old rat set about preparing another pot of tea.

Leo stared past his father at the kitchen wall, ignoring the mundane activity that seemed so disconnected to their current reality. He did not speak nor did his father bring himself to break the silence that had engulfed their home. They sat and slowly sipped the tea as it cooled.

"Father," Leonardo said at last when his cup was empty. "What are we going to do?"

Splinter raised his gaze from his tea cup. "I'm afraid I do not know Leonardo," he replied heavily.

* * *

><p>Donatello slipped inside his room with a sigh of relief before settling his laptop on his desk and opening up again. He quickly accessed a messenger program once it had loaded and continued the conversation he'd been in the middle of before Leo interrupted.<p>

_Technogeek900: You have the old sequences?_

_ScienceCroc84: Indeed I do. I will send them to you in a moment. What exactly are you looking for?_

_Technogeek900: I need to find genes that are being upregulated that hadn't been before or were being supressed. Specifically those involved in gonadal steroid production. I'll come down later so we can take a sample from me. Analyse it and compare it with the previous ones. I don't know if I can get samples from any of my brothers._

_ScienceCroc84: I'll look in to it on my end. But yes, without a current sample, it will make things difficult. I've sent you the old sequencing data._

_Technogeek900: Thanks. Will see you later._

_ScienceCroc84: Be well, my friend._

The turtle downloaded the files Leatherhead had sent him and sunk into the comfort that scientific analysis offered to him. Whilst he pooled over the genome sequencing he and Leatherhead had been working on based on the DNA from Don and his brothers, the turtle was not thinking about his brothers and the hurt they had inflicted on each other. His mind was calm and clear as he took in the information.

It was cold, the way he was choosing to handle his emotions but at this point, Donatello felt there was no other option. If he stopped, his mind would fall into blank despair, stuck in the same eternal loop as he realised over and over again that Michelangelo had-had…raped Raphael. That he, Donatello, would have done the same or tried to do the same were it not for his father's interference. His mind stalled at this, almost unravelled as he evaluated himself. He had never thought that way about his brother, never harboured such desires but his own feelings did not matter in the face of his own instincts.

His instincts needed to be overcome. Donatello had immediately turned to science to understand his own biology. Somewhere in his genetic code, genes that had been previously inactive or down-regulated were now switched on and active. He would need to investigate and find out which ones and why. From there, he could hopefully unravel what had caused this tragedy.

He could not afford to do anything else.

* * *

><p>Leonardo stood inside the dojo. He was motionless for one moment, then he was a blur as he worked through a kata. He threw himself into the exercise, trying to exorcize his mind of all the events of the past day. His mind needed to be clear, he need to focus. He needed to re-establish control over himself. What had happened could <em>never <em>happen again. Ever.

He wouldn't allow it.

Leo finished the kata but his last step was sloppy and unsteady.

Clarity, it would seem, was a long way off.

* * *

><p>Splinter slowly reached out to touch Raphael's face, then his fingers froze an inch away from his skin. He could feel that his son's mind was furiously active though his body remained deceptively lax. Was he reliving the trauma, the betrayal by his brother? Or perhaps he was dreaming of more pleasant things, trying to forget the transgression committed against him. Whatever it was, he could feel his son's tension, as Raphael sensed his presence despite the distance that kept his mind away.<p>

He did not want to be touched.

He was afraid.

The old rat's hand dropped away. For a long moment, he gathered himself, then sent comfort and love to Raphael's sleeping consciousness.

Splinter climbed to his feet. It tore at him that he could not remain by Raphael's side but Michelangelo would be waking soon and the old rat did not feel comfortable with the thought of leaving him alone. He stood straight and quietly left the infirmary, locking the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Normally, waking up was a slow process for Mikey. He would be gradually pulled from adventures with the Silver Sentry and the Justice Force, resisting the waking world as though he was being dragged through treacle. Then Leonardo or his alarm clock would shatter this illusion, yanking him straight into reality and the daily training session.<p>

Today was no such day. Michelangelo woke up immediately, rolled over and sat up straight. He stared at his father, who was meditating at the end of his futon.

"Shit," he said. "Shit."


End file.
